


Happy Accidents

by cyankelpie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Confession, Aziraphale is slightly less of a mess, Confessions, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, Hugs, I really can't overstate how stupid this is, Idiots in Love, M/M, complete nonsense, crowley is bad at words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: “Night, Aziraphale. Love you.”“Love you too, dear.”Crowley made it as far as the door before several vital mechanisms of his brain fell out of their couplings and clanked against the floor of his skull. "Um."(When Aziraphale and Crowley finally confess to each other, it's completely unintentional)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 398
Collections: Asexual Good Omens, Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Happy Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> I see your "one of them confesses by accident" fics and raise you: BOTH of them confess by accident.
> 
> This one is unapologetically ridiculous. It's just...so dumb. Consider yourself warned.

Ironically, it happened right after Crowley and Aziraphale had sobered up, during another of those pleasant evenings spent with Aziraphale’s books, large quantities of wine, and, of course, Aziraphale himself. Crowley would have spent another couple of hours splayed across the sofa with a glass dangling from one hand, soaking in the angel's company—hell, he would have spent days—but Aziraphale probably wanted him out of the shop at some point, and it was already well after midnight. “S’late,” he observed, nodding at the clock on the wall.

Aziraphale glanced over at it. “I suppose it is.”

Crowley took that to mean that Aziraphale did want him to leave. “Ought to get going, I guess,” he said, sat up with a grunt, and sobered up after a moment of concentration. Now that his head had cleared, he got to his feet, retrieved his jacket from the chair he had thrown it over and put it on. “Night, Aziraphale. Love you.”

“Love you too, dear.”

Crowley made it as far as the door before several vital mechanisms of his brain fell out of their couplings and clanked against the floor of his skull. Oh, he’d said the thing. Oh no. He wasn’t supposed to do that. There was exactly one (1) circumstance under which Crowley was permitted to say the thing, and that was if Aziraphale said it first, which he hadn’t, because he had said it after.

_He said it back._

The rest of Crowley’s brain stopped working. He had one hand on the doorknob, and the other one somewhere not on the doorknob. It had happened so fast. If it had really happened at all, which he couldn’t be sure of. “Um,” said Crowley.

He didn’t have any of the words. They had all skittered across his skull-floor like marbles and rolled under various pieces of heavy furniture, where they hid and laughed at Crowley scrambling around to find them and bumping his head on all the tables.

He turned around. Aziraphale looked like he was in shock, and was not moving even a little bit. Had Crowley accidentally stopped time? No, the time-thing on the wall was still making the ticky noise. Where were all the bloody words? There were so many of them. He should at least be able to find one or two.

“W’s’at, er...a thing?” He said hoarsely.

Aziraphale nodded slowly, proving that he could still move, so time was still going along normally. “I believe so, yes.”

Crowley’s hand had left the doorknob, and he didn’t know what to do with it now, or with the other one for that matter. “Um,” he reiterated. “You, y-you said.”

“You said it first,” said Aziraphale a little defensively. “I was off-guard.”

“I didn’t—didn’t mean—”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face fell.

“—To say it,” Crowley finished. “Today.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face un-fell.

“S’at okay?”

“Very—very much so.”

The clock (there was the word) kept making the ticky noise. Crowley couldn’t think of any more words to say, now that he’d said the thing. Aziraphale usually had more words than him. Better words. Maybe he knew some he could apply.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you too late,” said Aziraphale, taking a deep breath. Or maybe he didn’t know any better words. At least he knew more than Crowley, though. Quantity over quality, maybe. “I know you like your sleep.”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley mumbled. “ _Like_.” He still couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. He put them in his pockets, except they wouldn’t fit, so he did his best to act like they did. “Could stick around here for a bit, maybe.”

“Oh, that would be nice,” said Aziraphale. His face did the thing that it did sometimes where it got brighter and made Crowley feel feelings.

“Ghk,” said Crowley, feeling feelings. He came over and sat back on the couch, throwing him limbs all over the place like he always did when he didn’t know where to put them, which was all the time.

“Are you quite all right?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t know how to answer that. On the one hand, yes, everything was all right, in fact everything was much better than alright, and Crowley felt like going onto a rooftop somewhere and shouting and possibly even singing. On the other hand, he couldn’t do that, because he had forgotten how to do very basic things like put together sentences in a normal person way. “Um,” he said a third time, in case he hadn’t gotten his point across. “Just, with the words, could have been better. And, also, on purpose.” And the sense-making. What was all of that?

Aziraphale gave a little laugh. “I didn’t imagine that the first time I told you would be on accident, either.”

“Bit stupid,” said Crowley.

“A bit.” Aziraphale was fidgeting a lot. “But I, er, I don’t think the words, or the surrounding circumstances, are the important thing.”

Easy for him to say. He still had more than a dozen of them. “S’good you think so,” said Crowley. “Cause I can’t, um. Not good with the words.”

“Crowley, you don’t have to keep talking,” said Aziraphale, getting up from his chair and moving to sit beside him on the sofa. Right beside him, actually, even though there was at least a third of the sofa still on the other side of him. Crowley was wondering whether he knew about all that extra space when Aziraphale reached out and hugged him.

Oh. That was very nice. He hadn’t guessed that Aziraphale would be so warm.

“I’ve loved you for such a long time, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “I’m so glad.”

_So have I,_ Crowley tried to say, _and I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been, and I would like to stay like this forever, if that would be alright with you._ It came out as “Svphg.” It was very unfair of Aziraphale to tell him he didn’t have to talk and then go right on saying nice things like that. Crowley hugged him back and hoped he got the message.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing that it was on accident,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t know if either of us would have said anything otherwise.”

Crowley chuckled. He had a point. Still, it would have been nice if it had been intentional.

Well, better late than never. “Love you, angel. On purpose this time.” That second part was mostly on accident, though. “Wait—Shit.”

When Aziraphale laughed, it vibrated through Crowley as well, which had to be the best experience in the world. “I love you too, my dear. Also on purpose.”

Crowley didn’t think he wanted to move ever again. Perfectly all right just sitting here with Aziraphale in his arms for the rest of time, thank you. Aziraphale didn’t seem inclined to move either, and Crowley would have done this a lot earlier if he’d known to expect that. For a long time, they just sat in silence, sinking into each other’s warmth.

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley, when his brain was a little more functional again. “We are both so stupid.”

A little, unexpected laugh burst out of Aziraphale. “I’m afraid so.”


End file.
